


Blushes and Brushes

by rowofstars



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Awkwardness, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Romance, Rumbelle Christmas in July 2016, Secret Admirer, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 06:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7563256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowofstars/pseuds/rowofstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gold hasn't been inspired to draw or paint in ages, until he lays eyes on Belle French. When he accidentally leaves one of his drawings in the library, and she finds it, he decides that maybe the way to the pretty librarian's heart is with a paintbrush.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the lovely ak-vintage. The prompt was “non-magical Storybrooke, blushes and brushes.” I had a delightful time being your Santa. I struggled so much to get this done on time. I did not expect life to attack the way it did and I'm so sorry this wasn't more. I had just lofty plans and I had to drag them back down to Earth. There maybe be a naughty follow up epilogue in the next couple weeks, so watch this space. ;) Also parts of this are unbeta'd. Please feel free to point out if I screwed something up.

It was wrong.

He knew it was wrong to watch her like this, hiding in the back of the library in the shadows of the reference section. The windows were high and a bit yellowed with age but still gave good enough light to see what he was doing. But the light up front? _Oh_ , it was glorious. The wide front windows of the library let in cascades of afternoon sunlight making the marble floor gleam. The old wood paneling had a lovely warm glow to it as well, giving the old building a richness of life.

But the real beauty of the library was her.

Belle French.

She’d moved to town with her big ideas and wide eyed ambition, and took the part-time position at the Storybrooke library. Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday afternoons, and Saturday mornings, she walked the block from her apartment to work, passing by the windows of Gold’s pawn shop. It took three months before she stopped in to look around. She commented, in passing, that she’d been walking by every day and always wanted to stop in. Gold said he hadn’t noticed.

He had.

That was when it came back, his muse and the overwhelming urge in his fingers to draw, paint, and doodle in the margins of his ledgers. He’d forgotten how comforting the quiet scratch of a pencil tip and the slight smell of graphite could be. His finger brushed over the page, sweeping away the dust where he’d been shading the underside of her jaw and staining his skin. The slide of his skin over the paper was smooth and soft, just like he knew she would be.

“Did you find what you needed Mr. Gold?” Belle called out.

Gold startled and scrambled to shove the paper he’d taken out back under the cardboard flap of the drawing pad. He heard the click of her heels and knew she would be on him in a matter of seconds. He’d come to the library to look for a book on the Spanish Colonial period for a side table he was thinking of restoring. She’d directed him to the small collection of architecture and interior design books in the reference section, and then left him to sort through books on a cart. He couldn’t help himself. 

One minute he’d been scanning the titles on the book spines, the next he was sitting on the edge of one of the tables with his pad open and his pencil working, staring down the narrow aisle. The glow from the early afternoon sun window was catching her face in profile, casting her in a light that he found irresistible.

“Mr. Gold?” she said again.

He reached out and snatched a book off the shelf beside him without looking, and tucked it under his arm with his leather portfolio.

“Oh,” she said, surprised and smiling. “There you are.”

He returned her smile nervously. “Here I am.”

“Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked, stopping just in front of him.

Her hands clasped in front of her and her eyebrows lifted expectantly. There was a lock of hair that had fallen loose from the clip on top of her head. It laid along the side of her face, daring him to brush it back and tuck it behind her ear. Her teeth caught her bottom lip and he sucked in a quick breath, catching the delicate flowery scent of her perfume.

Gold stared, gaping like a fish. “Uh,” he started. “Y-yes. Yes.”

He took the book from under his arm and held it up, sending the case with his pad and drawings falling to the floor.

Belle gasped and immediately dropped down to pick it up, pushing the papers back inside before handing it to him. “Sorry,” she muttered.

He shook his head and took the portfolio from her. He glanced down and saw that all the pages were face down so she didn’t see their contents. 

“It’s fine, Miss French,” he replied, his eyes shifting back to her. “No matter.”

She smiled and waited as he shuffled things around in his hands, and then took the reference book from him. “Let’s get you checked out, Mr. Gold.”

“Yes, let’s,” he said to her back as she headed back down the aisle to the front of the library.

Later, Gold made his way to the back of his shop and set down his things on the desk. The book he’d hastily grabbed off the shelf was something on art deco design, not the least bit Spanish and two decades late. He sighed, and flipped open the portfolio, then turned over the pages and spread them out.

There were two detail drawings he’d made of the legs of the table he wanted to restore. He planned to give them to a cabinet maker in Portland to make a replacement for one that was damaged. There was another quick sketch of his car that he’d done to warm up his hand. But the last drawing was missing.

Panic rose in him, his palms began to sweat and his pulse jumped. He swallowed and shuffled through the papers again, then thumbed the pages of the drawing pad. The reference book was turned out and shaken just in case he’d been careless with where he slide the drawing, but it wasn’t here. He walked back through the shop, his eyes fixed on the floor and scanning side to side. But the floor was as bare as it had been when he swept it this morning.

The drawing was still in the library.

He ran a hand over his face as a sick feeling made his stomach flip. Belle was going to find his drawing tonight when she did her usual round through the aisles. She was going to find it and be angry with him for doing such a thing without her knowing. He’d violated her privacy, like taking a picture of her without asking. Like he was some kind of _stalker_.

The hard feeling in his gut grew at that thought. He’d known it was wrong, but she was just too beautiful to resist. She wouldn’t understand though, and she would never want to speak to him again.

Gold turned and leaned against the glass case, feeling like he wanted to sink into the floor and be gone forever.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Belle sighed and gave the cart a shove. It squeaked as it rolled forward, but then the right front wheel spun awkwardly and the whole thing came to a halt. She stumbled when it stopped and knocked a book off and onto the floor. It landed pages down, cover open and the paper creasing.

She swore under her breath and knelt down to set the book to rights. Before she could stand, something caught her eye under one of the study tables. She went down on one knee and stretched out her arm, using her fingertip to pull it towards her. It was a heavier weight piece of paper than she was expecting and it was covered in a fine layer of dust. It must have been under there for at least a few days and she hadn’t noticed.

She straightened and then stood, brushing the dust off her knee. One side of the paper was empty, save for the dust, which she blew off. But the other side made her breath catch.

It was a drawing of a woman looking at a book. Her face was in profile, and seemed to be turned away from the viewer, but her hair was dark and the detail in her ear and neck was striking.

Belle stared, her mouth open in awe. She had no idea where it could have come from or who could have drawn it. She’d never seen anyone in the library drawing, and certainly not back here in the reference section. The light wasn’t bad, but it was a bit dim and dreary. Hardly anyone used the study tables.

She set the drawing on the cart and made her way back to the front of the library, shelving a few books in the mystery section on the way. Her mind cycled through the patrons she’d helped in the last week, Dr. Hopper, Grace Madden, Mary Margaret and her class of 6th graders, Mr. Gold. 

None of them seemed like very likely candidates.

Add to that the Thursday evening book club and it could be anyone of a hundred people. There was no way to know who it had been, or even where to start such an investigation. 

Sighing, Belle moved the cart around behind the circulation desk and push herself up onto the stool in front of the computer. She laid the drawing to her left, on top of a file folder of library card applications. The intent was to keep it safe until she found out who it belonged too, but every few minutes her eyes kept drifting to it. There was no signature, of course, nor any distinct marking in any of the corners, but the more she looked at the drawing the more it felt - familiar. Like something or someone she’d seen before.

She looked from the picture to the computer, and sighed before she logged off. The monitor went dark a moment later and her reflection stared back at her from the black screen. She could just make out most of her face, and she lingered on it for a minute. All she could see was the chubbiness in her cheeks that hadn’t left her since she was a little girl and the reading glasses she had to start wearing last year. She turned her head to the side and touched her hair it was pulled up at the back of her head, and then froze. 

The drawing.

Her hand snatched it up from the desk and she gasped. The clip holding the hair of the woman in the drawing looked a lot like hers, a barrette style with roses across it, four of them in silver. It had been her mother’s and she was sure no one else in town would have one like it.

Someone had drawn a picture of her, here, in the library, probably while she was working. The thought was both fascinating and a little creepy. Had they intentionally left it for her to find, or just dropped it and forgot about it? Why hadn’t they come back to look for it? It’s not like she would have known that’s what they were doing all the way back there. Hell, anyone who came into the library could wander around and look, that was half the point of the place.

Hesitant fingertips traced the dark lines of her hair and brushed the curve of her neck. They came away tinged with gray from the graphite. After wiping her fingers off on a tissue, she took an empty file folder from a drawer and slipped the drawing inside it. Then she eased it into her bag so it wouldn’t crease, and headed for the door. She didn’t want to leave the drawing for Mrs. Porter to find in the morning, lest the old woman think she’d spent her shift doodling.

Belle stared through the glass doors of library with a curiosity she hadn’t felt in some time. The next few days of work might be very interesting if her mystery artist returned. She’d have to keep a close eye out to figure out who it was. Smiling, she turned the deadbolt on the door, and headed down the street towards Granny’s.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been three days since Gold had lost the drawing in the library. Three days in which he had waited for the world to fall apart, for Belle French to confront him, for his secret to heard by the entire town. Three days in which he’d slept poorly and had entirely too much coffee, staring out the window of his shop at doors of the library. He was certain that at any moment she would fling them open and stalk across the street, her blue eyes darkened with anger. Even the image of that was beautiful to him. He might be okay if the last thing he saw in this life was Belle standing over him with fire in her gaze.

But it never happened.

Three days past and there was no indication she had even _found_ the drawing, much less that she knew he had drawn it. He thought perhaps there was a chance that he could sneak back into the reference section and retrieve it. There was the matter of him still needing that book on Spanish Colonial design, and having to return the incorrect book he’d grabbed in his haste. It was all above board.

He glanced at the time and saw it was nearly noon, almost time to close up his shop and head home for a Saturday afternoon with his son. Neal had soccer practice Saturday mornings which worked out well with the shop’s hours. He had time to get lunch before heading to the library. Belle usually ate later on Saturdays, so it was possible for him to stop by the library while she was out, but before they closed at two. He could return the wrong book, get the right one, and be back in the reference section for a legitimate reason. It would give him ample time to find where he dropped the sketch and hopefully retrieve it before anyone was the wiser.

The plan seemed perfect and he smiled slightly as he stepped out of his shop. He turned to lock the door, and then glanced at the library before heading off down the street. He couldn’t tell if Belle was there or not, but Ms. Potts, the head librarian, liked to keep to a strict schedule.

He strode confidently, his usual detached expression that caused others to avoid him in place. As he neared Granny’s diner, something in the window caught his attention. It was a bright swath of yellow, and he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.

Belle French sat in the booth by the front window, bathed in the light of the late morning sun. His breath caught and he wobbled a bit before leaning heavily on his cane. She was stunning in her simple, bright yellow dress, and once again he could scarcely believe she existed. He exhaled slowly and watched her as she looked down at something in her hands. He assumed it was just the menu, until she sat back and lifted the paper. He staggered backwards, and almost fell when his left foot stepped awkwardly off the curb. He caught himself at the last second, bracing a hand on the hood of David Nolan’s old truck.

Belle had found his drawing.

She was staring at it with a slight smile, her fingers tracing over the lines briefly before she pulled her hand away and set it down again. He caught himself smiling as well, delighted at the thought that she might actually _like_ his work. But then she turned to look out the window and their eyes met. She smiled at him, and raise her hand in a wave.

Gold swallowed and turned around, nearly colliding with Archie Hopper, who called out after him as he hurried away.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Belle slid the drawing out from the folder she’d been keeping it in and smiled. It was hard to stop looking at it once she had realized that she was the subject. Well, at least she thought so. The practical part of her brain reminded her that it was possible that similar hair clips existed in the world. Someone could have been inspired by hers to include it in a drawing of just some woman, unknown and generic, no one in particular but the image in the mind’s eye of the artist.

But the hopeful, romantic part of her, wanted it to be her. She wanted it to mean something. Because then she’d mean something to someone. It would mean she was noticed for something that wasn’t being odd and bookish, or for wearing vintage dresses and crazy high heels. People said things, she knew that, whispers and looks as she walked by because she was still a stranger. Sometimes she even heard them. At first it hadn’t bothered her, but after three years of living in Storybrooke it hadn’t stopped. She was still the weird girl with the strange accent who worked at the library, who never went anywhere or did anything.

Belle touched the drawing almost reverently, her fingertips barely brushing the paper. She was afraid she might smear the image and ruin it. Sighing, she set the drawing down and looked up, turning to the window while she waited for her lunch. She was surprised to see Mr. Gold standing outside, looking at her with a strange expression.

She smiled and waved to him, hoping he might come in and join her. He was one of the few people in town that seemed more outcast than she was, but he reveled in it. Everyone thought he was cold and mean, but she’d only ever found him to be friendly and funny, and very intelligent too. That he was older and had a lovely Scottish accent that made her feel too warm when he spoke was just a bonus. She’d never admit to it, despite all the teasing from Ruby and Ashley, but she did have a bit of a crush on him.

He smiled slightly, but as soon as she waved, he almost fell over and then all but ran off down the street. She leaned forward and turned in her seat a bit, trying to watch him, but soon he was out of sight.

She sat back and frowned, toying with the corner of the folder. Apparently Gold wasn’t in the mood for a lunch date. She snorted to herself. Or probably any date to be honest. In the three years she’d lived her, she’d never seen him with anyone else but his son. She knew he didn’t have a wife, the rumor was the woman left him for someone else when they lived in Boston. But he didn’t seem interested any time she made an effort to try to flirt with him. Of course it probably didn’t help that they were always in the library and he was always there on business.

“Hey,” Ruby said, setting down a plate with filled with a burger that was still sizzling from the grill. “You look like you’re a million miles away. What’s up?”

Belle shrugged. “Nothing, just thinking.”

Ruby smiled. “You always are.”

She gave her friend a small smile and nodded, choosing not to mention the drawing. It was still new, and still her little secret. She liked having something just for herself.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was just after dusk and Gold was settled in his study with a glass of scotch in his hand. His tie was coiled up on the desk, his suit jacket draped over the chair. On the leather sofa beside him was his sketch pad and pencil case. He sipped the scotch, and then set it on the coffee table before picking up the pad.

He flipped it open and leafed through the first few pages. They were all practice drawings, quick little things to get his hand warmed up, or to work out the right proportions and perspective. He wished he had dropped one of those in the library. A pencil sketch of a rose was far easier to explain than a drawing of a specific person, especially when that drawing was done unbeknownst to the subject. The rose might have been a nice way to strike up a real conversation, to talk about something that wasn’t what book or research he needed, the weather, or some random bit of town gossip.

He was terrible at interacting with people, mostly because he just didn’t like them and didn’t want to talk to them. But Belle was different. She was smart, funny, and beautiful, so beautiful he sometimes forgot how words worked and all he could do was smile at her like an idiot and nod along with whatever she said.

He thought back to earlier that day when he saw Belle sitting in a booth in Granny’s, his drawing in her hands. At first, he had felt such a rush of excitement that she was seeing his art. But that had quickly faded into terror at the thought that she might know it was his. He could see no possibly way that she wouldn’t be disturbed by his actions. She’d probably think he was stalking her and call Sheriff Graham.

The look on her face, though, so serene and almost happy as she looked at it. Her hand had hesitated to touch the lines, but when she finally did, she smiled. Gold felt his chest tighten at the memory. Maybe she did like the drawing, maybe she hadn’t realized it was her after all. He would have thought the clip in her hair was a dead giveaway, but maybe there was nothing special about it. Maybe other women in town wore the exact same one and he had never noticed. Unless it was on Belle it was unlikely he’d notice.

Still, the fact that she had it and might figure out his secret was gnawing at him. He needed to get the drawing back somehow, and he took another sip as he contemplated how he might go about it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Gold took a deep breath as he stepped into the library. The smell of paper, leather, and old wood was like nothing else in the world, and he smiled.

“Mr Gold?”

 _Shit_.

Belle was here and she’d seen him. He was planning to just slip the drawing out of the folder she’d been keeping it in and then slip out of the library again. She should have been at lunch and none the wiser. He’d even seen her leave and walk down the street with her purse in hand, presumably heading to Granny’s. She must have gotten take out, or gone somewhere else and come back.

“Miss French,” he replied calmly. 

He started to walk towards the front desk, but stopped when he realized she was perched on the front of the desk. Her legs were crossed, revealing much more of her thighs then he was prepared to deal with, the gray fabric of her already short skirt riding up to sinful levels. He swallowed as he looked her over. She was wearing that cream colored button up blouse that was lacy, sheer, and drove him mad. The black bra she wore under it was very visible, and he frowned. She didn’t usually wear something so bold under that blouse.

“Mr. Gold?” she said again, smiling.

He stopped just a couple of feet from her, not trusting himself to be any closer. “Yes?” he replied.

Her lips twisted, her smile shifting into more of a smirk. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

Gold blanched. “Uh, I - I don’t think so, no.”

Belle reached behind her, arching her back as she twisted around and pushing her breasts out. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from making a lewd noise. He needed to get out of here before he embarrassed himself.

When she straightened and faced him again, she was holding a folder in her hand. His mouth fell open. It was the folder she’d been keeping the drawing in, the one he was hoping to steal back.

“What, um - where did you -?”

She tilted her head. “I think you have some explaining to do, _Oliver_.” She opened the folder and slipped the drawing out, laying it over her lap.

 _Christ_ she’d used his first name.

“Miss French, I - I -” 

He swiped a hand over his forehead and it came away damp. His drawing was in her lap. She knew.

She knew and he was screwed.

“It’s not what it looks like,” he said finally. Then he winced at how lame that sounded.

Belle frowned. “It’s not?” she asked. “Because it looks like you drew a _very_ lovely picture of me right here in this library. Are you saying you didn’t? Or that this isn’t me?”

“Uh, I - I, um,” Gold stammered. “I don’t - I mean -”

“If it wasn’t me, or it wasn’t drawn by you, that would make me very sad,” she continued. Her bottom lip pushed out in a small pout. It made her mouth took entirely too kissable.

His eye widened. “Sad?”

She nodded. “It’s such a nice drawing,” she said. “And I thought maybe you had left it here for me to find.”

“Well,” he started. “I, um, I did draw it, but I didn’t mean to, uh, to leave it.”

“Oh.” She sighed. “That’s too bad. I thought you wanted me to know.”

Gold frowned. He was confused as to how she figured it out and what she was trying to say. “Know what?”

“To know how you felt about me,” she explained. Then she set the drawing aside and leaned back, bracing her hands behind her on the desk. Slowly, she uncrossed her legs and let them dangle over the edge.

He felt himself take a step forward, against his will, moving him too close. “How I feel?”

She nodded again. “I feel the same way,” she said, smiling slightly. Then she raised a hand and beckoned him closer with a crooked finger as her tongue came out to wet her lips.

Gold was in front of her in an instant, his hands clutching his cane tightly to keep from grabbing her and pulling her to him. “You - you do?”

Belle reached up and took hold of his tie, letting her hand slide down a little. Then she wrapped her fingers around the silk and used it to pull him down. Their lips nearly collided as her tug left him unbalanced and falling forward. He barely caught himself with a hand on the desk, his cane clattering to the floor as their noses bumped. He shifted a bit to the side at the same that she tilted her head just right. Her mouth was already open, her tongue pushing against his lips, and he didn’t hesitate to part his as well, moaning at the taste of her.

Her other hand slid into his hair, fingers tugging wonderfully while they kissed. His lungs were burning when he finally pulled away, and he looked down at her just as an ear piercing screech rang out.

Gold startled and blinked. He looked around the room, frowning, not understanding why he was back in his study and not the library, and why it was so dark. He rubbed at his eyes and squinted at the clock. It was well after two in the morning and he was half slouched on the sofa. The annoying noise was coming from the television, the broadcast having ended a while ago and turned to a high pitched static. He ran a hand over his face and then switched the TV off. 

Sighing, he pushed to his feet and forced himself up the stairs and into bed, the events of the dream and the fate of his drawing keeping him from falling asleep right away.


	3. Chapter 3

It was Tuesday again.

Gold looked from the book sitting on the counter, to the front window of his shop, and out across the street to the library. His fingers drummed against the hard leather cover of the book. One week was the standard check out time for books at the public library, and he rarely needed them longer than that. He was always prompt about returning them, and he always went inside to hand them directly to Belle. She would try to cajole him into checking out a book for pleasure, and recommend something she’d read. He’d politely decline, and either leave or source something new that he needed for research or a project. She’d be expecting him today, late morning, just before he went to lunch. That was their routine.

They had a routine. 

He smiled at that, tucked the book under his arm, and headed for the door. Halfway across the street the butterflies set in. When he stepped up on the curb on the other side, he paused, suddenly terrified to open the library door.

But he forced himself forward.

Belle was in the children’s reading and activity area, just to the left of the door, straightening the little chairs at the equally diminutive and colorful painted tables. She looked up from her tasks and smiled.

“Mr. Gold,” she said brightly. “How are you?”

Gold relaxed. She didn’t seem angry or upset, and in fact seemed pleased to see him. The events of his dream floated to the surface of his mind, but he shoved them down firmly. That was highly unlikely to happen, and he needed to remain as professional and courteous as always so she would suspect nothing.

“Miss French,” he replied, inclining his head slightly. “I am well. And you?”

She gave him a short nod. “Quite well.”

She moved out from behind the half wall that separated the children’s area from the entryway, her black pleated skirt swishing side to side. She had on a white blouse, which distracted Gold for a moment, but it wasn’t the sheer one that had taunted him in his dream.

“Come to return your book?” she asked, holding out her hand.

He stared at her, momentarily lost in her blue eyes, before he shook himself and handed over the book. He held it out and she took it between her two hands, her fingers brushing his lightly.

“Yes, I’m afraid I must have been distracted when I was here last time.” he said. “I saw this and grabbed it, but completely forgot the one I actually came for.”

She laughed. “It happens to me all the time.”

He smiled. “I’ll just be in the back then, searching out what I need.”

Belle waved him off as she headed to the circulation desk to return his book, and Gold blew out a breath. So far so good. She hadn’t said anything about the drawing, and she seemed to be in a delightful mood. He wondered if his drawing had played any part in that. She did seem quite enamored with it when he saw her in Granny’s. As he came to the end of the aisle and turned, he glanced back over his shoulder.

She had finished up at the desk and started reshelving books in the first fiction section, so he moved one aisle over and found the book he was originally seeking. When he stepped back, with the book tucked in the crook of his arm, she was up on a short step stool and trying to get to the highest shelf. One of her legs was lifted and bent behind her, the other pushing up on the tips of her toes so she could reach.

There was a sliver of late morning sun coming from a side window, making her look like she was standing in a spotlight. 

Gold nearly dropped the book in his haste to get out the notepad he kept in his inside jacket pocket, letting his cane lean against the shelf to his right. By the time he had everything balanced, and had hidden himself, she had moved again. The light was still there though, and she looked perfectly radiant standing in it.

He drew quickly, not taking the time for shading and detail that he had with the drawing she’d found. This one was done in a fine tipped black pen instead of pencil. The few shadows he drew, between her and shelf and along the floor, were slightly uneven and more like hash marks than the smooth blur he achieved with the graphite and some smudging. Still, when he was finished, it was unmistakably Belle, standing between the shelves with an armful of books and one stretched over her head, just unable to reach the shelf above her.

His lips twitched at the thought of stepping up behind her, taking the book from her hand, and leaning in to help her. She’d be pinned between him and the shelf and -

Gold shook his head. This was not the time or place for rampant daydreaming. He shifted the book in his arms again and recapped his pen using his teeth to hold it. Just before he closed the small notebook, he paused. There was one possible way he could determine if Belle truly liked his drawings or not, and on impulse he folded the paper in half and tucked it in an open spot on the shelf. It was roughly where the book he’d just returned would go, and he felt fairly certain that she would find it later in the day.

Before he could change his mind, he tucked the notebook away and strode back down the aisle.

“Did you find what you needed?” she asked sweetly, looking up from her cart full of books.

He smiled and inclined his head. “I think I have, yes.”

“Then you know the drill, Mr. Gold,” Belle said, smiling back at him. “Leave the card on the desk.”

He nodded and continued on to the front of the library. As he pulled out the card from the front of the book and slid it into the little box, he glanced back at her. She was moving slowly down the aisle, and it would probably be quite some time before she reached the back and found the drawing, if she found it tonight. He started to feel paranoid as he stepped outside, but he reminded himself that she couldn’t know how long it had been there. If she didn’t think the first drawing was from him, there was no way she’d believe the second one was.

After one more look back at the library doors, he sighed and stepped off the curb.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Belle sighed and rolled her shoulders and neck. There was a satisfying snap, but it didn’t quite relieve the tension between her shoulder blades. It seemed like every book she had to put back was at least two shelves over her head. By the time she got to the reference section in the back, her arms ached and her neck felt stiff from looking up all the time.

She gave the old cart another heave and pushed it to the end of the aisle. As she reached for the first book, she smiled. It was a week ago today she found the drawing. The books were put away fairly quickly, most of them having been checked out by the eighth graders who were doing reports on the Presidents. She was just about to shelve a biography on James Madison when her eyes drifted to the table pushed up against the back wall at the end of the row. That was where she had found it, discarded on the floor and just a little dusty.

She smiled again and pushed the book forward, adjusting the one next to it so they both fit properly. As she did so, a piece of paper slipped out and fluttered to the floor. She stared down at it, her lips pressed tight together.

Her breathing was deep and slow as she eyed the paper. It was small, white, and folded in half. One edge looked like it had been torn from a small notebook. She hesitated, looking around before bending down to pick it up. She stood and held it in between her fingertips, turning it by the corners, but didn’t open it.

She should finish shelving the books before she looked at it, but she also knew she was being silly. It was probably left by one of the students, notes they had taken, or placeholder while they selected their books. Still…

Belle exhaled and looked around again, which was even sillier since it was after six and the library was closed. Carefully, she unfolded the paper, laying it against one of the hardcover books on her cart. She pressed it flat with her palm, and then lifted her hands away.

She gasped.

It was another drawing. The drawing showed a woman shelving books, and while she did that several times during the day, every day, looking at it gave her the strange feeling of being watched. The drawing was unmistakably of her, and her head turned quickly, left and right. She listened intently, but there were no sounds except her own breathing. 

This one was a bit different. It was done in a fine, black pen, and the style was less smooth. The shadows looked like little crosshatches under her feet and up to the shelves. Her one leg was lifted, her arm stretching up to reach a shelf that was just out of reach. She wanted to laugh at how cute the whole thing looked.

One drawing could have meant anything. But two? Two was something. It had to be. Especially in almost the same place in the library. It was left for her to find just like the first one. Someone must have done it on purpose. It was a strange and intriguing idea. 

Belle smiled and tucked the drawing in the pocket of her skirt. She loved a good mystery.


	4. Chapter 4

Belle bit her lip and looked down at her drawings. It had been several days since she found the second one, very obviously _placed_ for her to find. That was important because it meant she’d been the intended recipient, though she didn’t quite know what to make of it. Was someone just trying to be nice? Was it a very talented student leaving it as some kind of weird thank you?

She was curled up on her sofa in sweats and a t-shirt, having a lazy, rare Saturday off, after a rather raucous Friday night. She’d met up with Ruby after her shift at the diner, and they made their way to the Rabbit Hole. The local dive bar wasn’t really Belle’s thing, but Ruby and Ashley liked it, and it was the only thing that vaguely resembled night life in Storybrooke. They were one round of drinks into the evening when Belle found out her secret wasn’t so secret.

_“So, Belle,” Ruby had asked. “What’s with the folder?”_

Belle froze. “What folder?”

Ashley snorted and Ruby rolled her eyes. “The one very obviously sticking out of your purse that you keep looking at every five seconds?”

Reluctantly, Belle slid the folder out of her purse and laid it on the table. She flipped it open and Ruby gasped.

“Oh my god! Belle -”

Ashley’s eyes went wide. “Holy shit is that you?”

Belle shrugged. “I think so, but I don’t really know for sure.”

“You don’t know?” Ruby frowned. “How can you not? Didn’t you pose for these?”

Belle shook her head. “I found them in the library.” The two women gaped at her. “What?”

Ruby blinked. “You found drawings of yourself in the library and you didn’t say anything?”

She sighed. “The first one was under a table and looked like it was just lost there like no one cared about it. It kinda looked like me but I wasn’t sure. Then the second one was sitting on a shelf and I found it while I was putting books away.”

“The drawing is of you putting books away,” Ashley said, lifting the smaller second drawing up and studying it. “You didn’t think that was weird?”

She shrugged again. “I just thought they were nice.”

“How many have you found and when?”

“Just the two,” she answered. “One was last Tuesday, the other was this Tuesday.”

Ruby and Ashley exchanged a knowing look.

And so it was determined that Belle French had a secret admirer.

She wasn’t entirely sure how accurate that was given that Ruby and Ashley had reached that conclusion in the middle of the third cosmopolitans, but it was an explanation that was at least plausible. 

Part of her wondered if it was some cruel joke being played at her expense. Someone wanted her to think they admired her only to - what? Humiliate her in front of the town? Or did they want something from her and were trying to gain favor? It wasn’t like she had money or anything. Her father’s flower shop did okay, but it was nothing special and neither was she.

In Australia, she was “Belle the girl who was smart and took dance classes.” Both were things she was very proud of, grinning every time anyone called her twinkle toes, no matter how many times she’d heard it. She had a real talent and passion for ballet, and a love for the artistry of dance that she shared with her mother. But her mother died when she was eleven and she just never went back. The thought of ever stepping up to a barre again was too painful. Her father understood and never pushed her about it, but she knew that beyond his grief over his wife was another sadness just for her. Two things she loved had been taken away.

Then she became “Belle the girl whose mom died.” Kids started avoiding her, though she never knew why, and adults just didn’t seem to know what to say. A couple of years later, her father up and moved them to the states, settling in Providence, Rhode Island, where she was redefined as “Belle the girl from Australia who talked funny.” 

Later on she was the nerdy girl who never got asked to the dance and didn’t have many friends. Her one and only boyfriend turned out to be a jerk who dumped her just after graduation. From then on she’d mostly kept to herself. She wanted everyone to leave her alone but at the same time wanted everyone to be her friend. It was a strange dichotomy she never reconciled and still felt from time to time.

When she made the move to Storybrooke after college, Belle thought she was past caring what others thought of her. Then she met Ruby. Ruby was like her, having lost her mother at a young age. Her father up and left in the middle of the night a year later. Since then she’d lived with her grandmother. She and Belle were truly kindred spirits and for the first time Belle felt like someone really understood her. She felt a little less like that these days, but it wasn’t Ruby’s fault. Ruby had a girlfriend and was moving her life forward. Ashley too was engaged and a mother to a two year old.

And now she was just the part-time librarian in one of the smallest towns in the whole of the country.

She sniffed at the unexpected tears and wiped a hand over her damp cheeks. These drawings and this secret admirer business that Ruby had put in her head were bringing up a lot of feelings she’d have preferred to continue to ignore.

She got up off the couch and went to make some tea, forcing her mind to switch tactics. 

The question she should be pondering was _who_ her secret artist was.

She sighed and set the kettle on the stove. There was no one that seemed even sort of likely in the whole of Storybrooke. People barely talked to her outside of when they needed something at the library, or meaningless pleasantries in passing. It just seemed strange that someone could possibly have any romantic inclinations towards her given that the only people who really _knew_ her and talked to her were Ruby and Ashley. Even if she had felt _that_ way about either of them, they were both unavailable.

There was only one person she even wanted it to be, and that was so far beyond anything that was possible, it almost made her laugh. 

Mr. Gold may have frequented the library, but she couldn’t imagine him admiring her from afar. Nor did he really seem like the artist type. Sure, he restored a lot of antiques which was itself some kind of art form, and he knew about everything from dining tables to jewelry, but being so inspired he had to draw her? She snorted and nearly spilled her cup as she carried it back to the sofa.

Belle sat down and pulled up the fuzzy, red throw blanket over her legs. Though Gold lived in the town for quite some time with his son, no one could really say much about him. She knew that he liked detective novels, sonnets, and burgers from Granny’s, and that his cologne smelled faintly of sandalwood. He was handsome, too. Some might say in an unconventional way, but not her. The suits, the longer hair, the accent that hadn’t lessened despite all the years he’d lived outside of Scotland, it was all attractive to her.

Sighing, she set her teacup aside. This contemplation was only going to make her stupid little crush worse. He could never have any interest in her. She was boring and plain, and he was - well, he was Mr. Gold. Everyone was a little bit afraid of him, either because he was their landlord or because they’d heard stories about the deals he made. Everyone except maybe her anyway. She didn’t see the “evil” others claimed was in him. Even when Ashley told her about how she’d gone to Gold to put her baby up for adoption, Belle hadn’t seen anything Gold did as evil. 

Ashley had been a confused, scared young woman with a baby on the way and a boyfriend she thought was cheating on her. She’d made a snap decision she later regretted, then broke into his shop to try to stop what she’d started. The whole thing had turned into such a mess. Later, it was Gold who insisted on there being no charges, a fact which few if any outside the incident knew.

Despite everything, all his deals and interactions, he remained an enigma in the town, almost an entity more than a man. She smiled. He was as much of a puzzle as the source of her drawings.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Gold leaned back and studied the blank canvas. His thumb passed back and forth over the end of the brush, feeling the soft, silky bristles glide over his skin. He thought about starting with pencil like he used to, using the fine lines to guide the paint. But there was something that felt pure about putting paint to canvas straightaway, something that called and compelled him to let out what wanted to be created.

The art room hadn’t been used in a while, and many of his supplies were dusty and dried out. He’d already sent away for fresh paints and pigments, which should arrive in a couple of days. The canvases he could brush off and the easels and the table just needed a good wipe down.

He looked at the pallet that was propped on his thigh. It was empty of fresh paint but retained some splatters and bits from previous works, long since dried. They were permanent now, reminders of a sort. He could recall exactly when he’d use the burnt brownish orange, though he couldn’t remember the name of it. It was from the last thing he’d been working on before Milah left, and the only piece he’d never finished.

“Papa?” came the voice of his son. “What’re you doing?”

Gold swallowed and set the pallet down on the little work table, turning on the stool to face his son. “I was just looking at my supplies, seeing what might need to be replaced.”

Neal padded into the room in his soft, dark blue pajamas. His face was pinked from the shower, and his hair was still damp. “You’re painting again?” he asked, coming to stand by Gold.

Gold sighed, noticing not for the first time how Neal was nearly as tall as he was sitting on the stool. It wouldn’t be long before he was probably a full head taller.

“I - I was thinking about it, yes,” he replied, fiddling with the brush. “Is that - okay?”

He didn’t know how much Neal remembered about the early days, but he knew the boy remembered enough about his mother leaving. If it was going to bother his son, he would find a way to keep it out of the house or stop. But his son just looked at him and nodded.

“Yeah, you just -” Neal shrugged. “You haven’t for a while, that’s all. And I saw you sketching the other morning. You haven’t done that either since mom left.”

Gold managed not to wince at his son’s words and instead gave him a crooked smile. He reached out and put his arm around Neal, pulling him into a sideways hug. Neal put one of his arms around his father and squeezed back.

“I know I haven’t,” Gold said softly. “But I feel like starting again. I feel -”

Neal pulled away and regarded his father with a sly smile. “Inspired?”

He nodded and smiled. “You might say I found my muse.”

Neal smiled too. “I’m glad.”

“Me too.” Then he straightened and ushered his son off to bed, promising he’d be heading up as well in a few minutes.

Before he turned off the lights, Gold looked back at the canvas and it wasn’t blank. He could see the colors, the shading. He could imagine the way the light would play off the surface, how seemed to glow from within. For the first time in years, he didn’t see a white space that he had no urge to fill, he saw the completed piece he needed to create.

Maybe if he could do that, if he could do it just right, then it would be worthy of being seen by Belle. He smiled as an idea formed, a way to court the lovely librarian, to let her know how he felt without having to say it out loud. And if he could do _that_ right, then maybe it might even let him know if she felt the same.


	5. Chapter 5

The following Tuesday, Belle found herself with company for lunch. Mr. Gold walked in just after she had seated herself in the end booth by the window at Granny’s. He smiled in her direction and she waved in response. She had just pulled out her folder of drawings when she looked up and saw him standing at her table.

She smiled again, laying the folder in her lap. “Can I help you, Mr. Gold?”

His fingers twisted his cane back and forth. “I, uh, was wondering if I might join you for lunch, seeing as we’re both here at the same time.”

She looked down at the folder and licked her lips, then up at him again and nodded. “Please do.”

He exhaled and his shoulders relaxed a bit, and it occurred to her that he’d been holding his breath, waiting for her response. She didn’t understand why he was nervous but it was quite endearing.

“So why me?” she asked, still smiling at him. 

He shrugged. “I decided I’d rather not eat alone, and there certainly isn’t anyone else in this place whose company I’d prefer more.”

She could feel her face flush at his words and looked away, watching Ruby as she hurried from table to table. She caught Granny’s scowling stare and hoped there wouldn’t be some kind of clash between her and Gold. When she looked back she noticed his hair had a sprinkle of water from the sporadic rain this morning and a couple of drops fell on the table. He frowned at them and wipe them away with his hand. 

“I didn’t think I would need an umbrella when I left the shop,” he muttered. Then he gave her a slightly crooked smile. “I don’t look like a drowned rat, do I?”

Belle giggled and bit her lip, her gaze diverting to her own menu before she looked up and met his eyes. She shook her head. “You most certainly do not.”

Ruby came over and took their order, giving Belle a rather pointed look and a raised eyebrow, but otherwise was her usual friendly self. While Gold was ordering, she slipped the folder off her lap and onto the seat, setting her purse on top of it.

Earlier that morning, she’d found another drawing, this time slipped inside the cover of The Count of Monte Cristo. The book had been sitting on the circulation desk for a couple of weeks while Belle read her way through it during slow times and on her lunch breaks. She hadn’t bothered to take it home with her since she hadn’t really checked it out, officially. She did that a lot with books once she’d started working at the library. 

This drawing was done in pencil like the first, and was on heavier paper, but differed from the first two in that she wasn’t the subject. Instead it was a beautiful, ornate teacup sitting on a saucer. The saucer was on a table of some kind that was covered with a lacy tablecloth. The only part that was really sketched was the portion immediately under the saucer and down over the edge of the table where it faded off the edge of the paper. The whole thing had excellent perspective, almost like a photograph.

She smiled as she thought about it and her eyes drifted to the folder that was just touching her leg. She knew it was meant for her this time. There was no other reason for it to be in this book. And that meant Ruby was right. She had a secret admirer.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he said.

She bit her lip and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry,” she said. “I was, um, thinking about a book.”

“Must have been a very good book to risk being caught reading on the job,” he teased.

Belle blushed. Everyone knew Ms. Potts frowned on any idle time at work, but at that moment Ruby arrived with their plates, and she was spared having to answer. 

Their conversation was surprisingly light and easy between gooey, greasy bites of burger and fries. She wasn't sure they would have anything to talk about, given how brief their interactions usually were, but once she asked Gold about how his son was doing that was more than enough to fill the time. She liked the way his eyes seemed to light up when he spoke about Neal. She supposed, not many in town probably cared to hear much of anything from Gold, much less about his son.

He wiped his mouth and set the napkin aside. “I'm sorry, Miss French, I seem to have monopolized your lunch hour with unsolicited stories about my son.”

Belle shook her head. “Hardly unsolicited, Mr. Gold,” she replied. “Neal seems like a great kid and a good student. I wish I saw more of him at the library.”

He sighed and gave her a slightly sheepish look. “I'm afraid that's my fault. I got him one of those Kindle things for Christmas a couple of years ago. He just downloads all his books now.”

She sighed happily. “Oh, I love those! Don't be sorry at all. It's far more important that children read at all, than _how_ they read.”

Gold smiled. “So you don't think I’m spoiling him or ruining him?”

She huffed. “The people who think technology is ruining books or reading or art are idiots.”

He leaned back a bit, eyebrows raised. His mouth curved slowly into a crooked grin.

“Sorry,” she said, cringing a little. There were few things that got her riled up, but judging people for choosing technology over a physical book was one of them.

“Don’t be.” He shook his head slowly. “I tend to agree with you. It’s why I bought Neal the - thing. Now most nights I have to tell him to turn it off and go to sleep.”  
Belle grinned, but it faded when she glanced at the time. She apologized for rushing off, hurriedly pulling some wrinkled bills out of her wallet. He stopped her, reaching out with his hand to hover just over hers.

“Please don’t, Miss French. It’s my treat,” he offered.

“Oh!” she gasped. “No, no I couldn’t.”

He gave her a look, and stood up, reaching into his jacket pocket for his wallet. “I insist.”

Her face felt warm again as she smiled and nodded, and she was sure she was blushing all the way back to the library.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Gold looked up as the bell over his shop door rang out. Hardly anyone came by his shop at all, much less after four in the afternoon. He was usually home by now, but he’d been trying to figure out why an antique music box had stopped working, and now it was in about eight pieces on his workbench.

“Mr. Gold?”

He startled at the sound of Belle’s voice and hurried to climb off his stool and out into the front room.

“Miss French,” he said, a bit out of breath. He hoped she wouldn’t notice.

She smiled at him and moved away from the door. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he returned softly. “What, um, what can I do for you?”

She started wandering around a bit, peering in some of the cases, her fingers hovering over the glass or over little objects. It was as if she wanted to touch them but didn’t dare. When she paused near the north corner, his breath caught. She was looking at the small collection of sketches he’d hung there.

It was folly, of course, he knew no one would ever notice them much less want to buy them. Few people really ever wanted to buy from him. The pawn shop was mostly for him, a place to keep his collection, his _things_. The rent he collected and property he owned was the real business, though he had started to look into selling some things online. But now she was here and looking at _his_ drawings, not just the ones he’d left for her over the last few weeks, but ones he’d chose to display to anyone who entered his shop.

Gold moved near Belle, standing just behind her.

“W-who drew these?” she asked, pointing at the framed sketches.

Her voice sounded very quiet and soft, perhaps amazed, but he didn’t dare let himself read into it too much. “A, uh, local artist,” he replied. He wasn’t ready for her to know, he had plans.

She sighed and reached out towards one of a rose, open in bloom. It was a simple thing, he thought anyway, just something he’d done in pencil on Sunday morning while it was storming and blowing a gale outside. It wasn’t even a _good_ pencil, just one from Neal’s backpack, but he’d felt inspired and it had lead to the drawing he’d left for her yesterday.

Belle looked over her shoulder at him. “You don’t know who the artist is?”

Gold swallowed. “I’ve been asked not to say, I’m sorry.”

She nodded. “Of course, I’m sorry I asked. I just -” She sighed again. “Sorry, again, it must be close to closing time, you probably need to get home.”

He frowned as she turned and strode towards the door, her blue high heels loud against the old wood floor. “Miss French, I -”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Gold!” she called out as she left.

He exhaled and let the hand that had reached out for her fall to his side. Through the window he could see her crossing the street and hurrying past the library, presumably on her way home. He didn’t know what he’d said or done to scare her off, but obviously it was something.

A day later, Belle was back, pushing her way into the shop with a slightly damp umbrella.

He smiled at her from the doorway of the back room. “Miss French.”

“Mr. Gold,” she said, apprehensively. She had to shake the umbrella a bit to get it closed, casting little drops of water over the floor and the glass of a nearby case. “Sorry,” she muttered, looking around at the puddle she’d made.

“It’s no matter,” he replied. “What, uh, can I do for you?”

She looked up at him and tilted her head. “I’m sorry about how I ran out of here yesterday.”

Gold shook his head. “It’s fine. I just don’t understand what happened, or what I did to -”

“No,” she interrupted. “It wasn’t you, it was me. I, uh, I remembered something, and I had to run off. I’m sorry.”

He smiled and shrugged. “Okay then, what brought you back?”

“This,” she said, holding up a pencil sketch of a rose bush pushing its way through a fence. 

The vines had wound their way around some of the pickets, and a few blooms curled over the top. It was what he’d left for her on Tuesday, strategically slipped under a book on the return cart for her to find when she was reshelving.

Gold swore his heart stopped. She _knew_. She’d somehow figured it out yesterday and that’s why she ran and now she was back to -

“I thought it would look lovely next to this one,” she said, walking to the north corner, pointing at one of the drawings hung there. “What do you think?”

It felt like it took him hours to get his wits about him again, but he finally shook himself and followed her over. She was pointing at a drawing of a rose, the one he’d done on that stormy Sunday. There was a small white tag dangling from the corner with the price, which apparently she thought was just fine since she hadn’t asked or tried to bargain with him.

“I think -” He wanted to laugh. “I think, uh, that it would be lovely, yes.”

She turned around, beaming widely at him. “Do you do framing?”

He blinked and looked down at her hands holding out his own drawing to him. When he met her eyes they were so bright and earnest that he wanted to confess everything, but instead he nodded and gently took the paper from her.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Belle sighed and sunk on her sofa. She set her phone on the coffee table and leaned back, pulling up the throw blanket as she moved. Glancing up on the wall above her, she smiled at the two drawings side by side. One was very much from her admirer, the other a random sketch by a so called local artist that Gold had in his shop.

When she’d seen that drawing on Tuesday she’d known it was by her secret admirer. She was so stunned that she’d asked for the name of the artist, which of course Gold wasn’t allowed to give her. Of course. If the artist had wanted to be known they would have signed the drawing. She hadn’t known what else to do when Gold told her he couldn’t say, so she’d run. By the time she got back to her apartment she’d felt like crying.

There was a part of her that had maybe fallen a bit in love with her mystery artist, or at least the idea of him, the person she imagined was romantic enough and talented enough to leave such lovely things for her. But there was the other part that had been thoroughly enjoying her chats with Gold, and their little lunches at Granny’s, a part that delighted in the looks people gave her.

They’d eaten together every week since that first time, sometimes twice. Once she’d gone into his shop and he’d offered her tea. He’d asked her advice on helping Neal with something for the science fair, and she’d spent the better part of two hours showing him a few online resources with easy to do at home projects. She’d even told him about her rather spectacular failure at her own eighth grade science fair, where her volcano hadn’t so much erupted as set itself, and the table under it, on fire. Her teacher had to get the fire extinguisher but the alarm had already gone off and the school had been half evacuated. Reliving it for Gold had left her red faced with embarrassment, but the look in his eyes was so warm and his smile so sincere that she laughed.

She didn’t know if it was possible to fall for two people at once, especially when one of them was completely unknown, but if it was, that’s what was happening to her. What was worse, she was starting to suspect that her feelings for Gold weren’t entirely one-sided. The man kept buying her lunch, coming into the library just to talk with her when he could have used the drop off bin like everyone else. The way he looked at her sometimes left her breathless and warm.

Belle laid back and looked up at the two drawings. One, the mass of roses growing through the fence, was her secret admirer. The other, the single rose, wide and blooming, was Gold. If there came a time when she had to make some kind of choice, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to either. She hadn’t had anyone interested in her like this in, well, ever, and now she had two. She didn’t want it to end.


	6. Chapter 6

Gold set the brush in the cup, and leaned back, arching his spine a satisfying pop rang out sharply. It was well timed with a crescendo of percussion from the classical music he had playing for background noise. Frowning, he pushed himself up and off the stool, pacing in the small space to stretch his legs.

If he was going to take up painting again, he was going to need a new chair for it. He wasn’t a young man anymore and his back and leg couldn’t take sitting on a barely padded metal stool for that long. The stillness with which he used to hold himself as he worked seemed astounding and impossible to him now. He rubbed at his arm and checked the brushes that were laying on a towel on his work table to see if they were dry. His thumb swept over the bristles of each one, setting a couple aside that were dry and leaving the rest. They would be ready to use again by tomorrow night.

“Papa?”

Neal poked his head around the edge of the french door, and Gold smiled. “Is the rice ready?” he asked, moving back to the easel to recap his paints.

Neal nodded and stepped into the room. “Just went off.”

“Good timing,” Gold said. “I need to let some of this dry anyway.”

His son’s head tilted as he eyed the canvas. “What’s it gonna be?”

“Well,” he said straightening as he wiped off his fingers on a rag. “That’s the outline for the window, that table will have a book and a teacup on it, and -”

“It’s for Miss French, isn’t it,” Neal said, smiling slyly.

Gold frowned and dropped the rag on the table. “What? How did -”

Neal let out a snorting laugh and shook his head. “You are sooo obvious.” 

The way he drew out the ‘oh’ sound in ‘so’ made Gold’s frown deepen. 

“Come on, Pop,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You’ve been having lunch with her like almost every day. You’re like the only one who actually takes books _inside_ the library to return them - heck, you’re one of the only people not in _eighth grade_ that even goes into the library.”

Gold’s mouth open and closed in something like shock. He could deny none of what his son was saying. It was all true. He was that obvious and pathetic.

“Hey,” Neal said, giving his father’s shoulder a squeeze. “It’s cool. I like Belle. She’s - different.” 

He shrugged and Gold smiled. Different was certainly one way to describe Belle French.

“Are you sure?” Gold asked. “You’re okay with - I mean if -” He really didn’t have the words to ask his son if he was okay with his father dating, much less dating a much younger woman. But all of that was getting entirely ahead of himself, _miles_ ahead of himself in fact.

Neal shrugged again. “Yeah, of course.” He moved towards the doorway, stopping inside with a smile. “But you are sooo lame when you’re in love.”

Neal ran into the house laughing, and Gold quickly snatched up the rag from the table and tossed it at him. He missed by a mile of course, and the rag fell harmlessly just inside on the rug. He shook his head and sighed. Neal knowing what he was up to was actually good. He didn’t want to keep secrets from his son and if anything happened between him and Belle, he would want Neal to be accepting and maybe even happy about it.

After dinner, Gold retreated to his art room. The room was really just the old screened in porch turned sunroom with the help of some cheap storm windows and plank siding. At one time he’d had designs on turning it into a real room, a den or something for Neal and his friends to use. But the easel and work table never quite got moved out to the garage, and sometimes he liked to come and sit out here with his morning coffee and think about the art he’d create if only something would move him to do so.

He limped into the room, leaning heavier on his cane than usual. His leg was already stiff from sitting on the stool too long, but his hands were itching to get a hold of the brush again. He rested his cane against the work table and straddled the stool, wincing at the tense, aching muscles that protested the awkward position. He stretched out his leg and propped it on an upturned bucket with a sigh. It wasn’t proper but it would do for now. Once a piece popped into his head, he had to get it out, almost all at once if he could.

It had always been that way, from even his earliest years. His father was a painter, but not a tradesmen. It was houses mostly, boring stuff, but the occasional storefront kept it interesting. Malcolm Gold was a right bastard through and through, but those moments when he would let his wee son draw or paint on the walls before the first layer of sickening beige was rolled on, still pulled at Gold’s heart. Those had been the good times, when he was too small for school and to remember that his mother wasn’t coming home.

Later, after his father had fled for parts unknown and he was living with his Aunt and her friend, art was a luxury. But it was something that always stuck with him, something that felt like it was inside of him that needed to get out. He could see the finished product in his mind and at first the frustration that he couldn’t get there lead to quite a few bruised knuckles and broken things.

He was angry for a long time, at his mother for leaving him behind, at his father for not loving him enough to stick it out. But somewhere along the line he grew out of it, and gave up on art as anything other than an intermittent diversion. 

Until he met Milah.

He was in Paris, because of course that’s where these things happen, and he fell in love at first sight. One summer in Milah’s postage stamp sized flat above a bakery and he was smitten. She had pretty blue eyes, brown hair, and the most delightful accent. 

Gold paused with his brush hovering just in front of the canvas. Cadmium yellow dripped slowly onto the edge of the pallet, as he frowned. Apparently he had a type. He smiled a bit and shook his head. Aside from those traits Belle was nothing like Milah, and that was just fine by him. If he was describing Belle he would say her eyes were stunning, the kind one might get lost in because they were in utter disbelief that the rest of her could be so beautiful.

He sighed again and set the brush down. It was late and he should put himself to bed. Neal was probably already asleep, or near it as he read on his Kindle under the blanket. That brought a smile to his face followed immediately by a yawn. He set about cleaning his brushes and covering the pallet with a plastic bag so the paint would stay fresh.

He remembered doing the same thing many years ago, staying up late to work on something because there weren’t enough hours in the day. In the beginning Milah loved it, loved that he was a law student with a secret artistic side. After they moved to the states though she start to become resentful. Money was tight and she always felt he should be doing more constructive things with his free time. Once they had Neal things got better. There was a sort of honeymoon period for the first year, when everything was new and exciting again. 

But then things got worse.

The day Milah left was the last day he touched paints or pencils or anything. Until Belle. Gold smiled as he climbed the stairs, braced between the railing as his cane. The painting was almost done. He’d probably have it touched up, framed, and hanging by next Tuesday. Maybe Belle would stop by and see it. 

As he moved to his closet, unbuttoning his shirt as he went, that familiar anxious feeling welled up and unsettled his stomach. He hoped that even if she didn’t have the same feelings for him that he did for her, that at least they could be good friends. He supposed he’d have to live with that. It was more than he’d had in a long time. That was if she didn’t scream that she never wanted to see him again.

Gold sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing at his stiff leg for a few minutes, all the scenarios playing through his head. He grimaced as he lay back against the cool sheets, but not because of any pain. His plan had seemed very romantic at the time, and had seemed happy about the drawings, but what if she had built up this image of some young, attractive artist? What if she imagined some handsome adonis right off the cover of those romance novels he knew she read in between her regular rotation of the classics? There was no way she’d been imagining _him_ this whole time. The flaw in his plan suddenly seemed so obvious.

Sleep was a long time coming.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Belle stepped out of the library into the late afternoon sun, squinting as she followed Neal. His father was sitting on the bench just outside, to the left of the book return box. She frowned as she saw Mr. Gold with a notebook open on his knee, a thick black pencil in his hand. For a moment it looked like he was drawing something, but that seemed absurd. She’d never seen him do anything like that before, nor had he ever mentioned any artistic ability. The pencil moved back and forth slowly, following the same arc along the page.

“Mr. Gold?”

Gold startled and quickly shut the notebook, slipping it off to the side and setting it face down on the bench.

“Sorry, I was - I was just making a quick list,” he said, pushing to his feet. Then he shook his head and put on a smile for his son. “All finished?”

Neal nodded. “Belle found the book right away, plus two more.” He looked up at Belle who stood just beside him. “And she showed me this website for the Library of Congress that has pictures of old letters and stuff.”

“And transcripts,” she added.

Gold smiled at Belle and then patted his son on the shoulder. “Good. Glad to hear there is still a need for public libraries.”

He gave Belle a knowing look and she grinned and looked away. They’d had that conversation more than once. Amazingly, her impassioned speeches about the wonders of the library system not only hadn’t driven him away, but he agreed with her.

“Thanks, Belle,” Neal said. He swung his backpack down off his shoulder and set it on the bench. 

As the boy started to tuck the books inside, Belle stepped closer to Gold. “If he needs anything else, just let me know.”

Gold nodded and bent to pick up the notebook, tucking it under his arm. “We will, and thank you, Miss French.”

Belle watched as the two went off down the sidewalk, her eyes drawn to the pad under Gold’s arm. Something about that moment had seemed odd, but she couldn’t say what. It had certain appeared like he was drawing, but it was just a few seconds of motion. He could have written a list and then been idly doodling in the margin while he thought about what else might be added. She did that often. All long the margins of her notebooks in school were little puppy faces, swirls, cubes, and random patterns she’d later color in. It was just another thing that made her odd in the eyes of others.

Later, she sat in the little chair by the window in her bedroom, alternating between staring out at the rain, and drawing little odds and ends on the first blank page in her notepad. She had realized just a few days ago that she could just barely see Mr. Gold’s house from here. It was mostly the roof and a sliver of the east side of the house, but for some reason it made her smile that he lived so close by. If she was braver, she would just happen by and maybe get herself invited in for tea. But she felt like she had already pushed things as much as she dared.

They had reached some level of comfortable friendship, which was both frustrating and wonderful. She had suspected there was much more to Mr. Gold that she knew or than the people in town assumed, and she was so pleased to find out she was right. But now she thought there might be something even more, something he was holding back. She didn’t really have any reason to think so, but her mind wouldn’t let go of what happened outside the library.

The truth she was ignoring was that for that brief instant she thought maybe both of the people she was falling for might be the same, her secret admirer and Mr. Gold. That seemed absurd now, but the fantasy had taken hold. She watched the tip of her pen as it looped around and around, drawing a curling spiral down the pink margin line, the loops spaced between the blue lines that crossed the paper. She imagined him drawing - no, _painting_. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, the jacket and tie long discarded...

_“Belle.”_

_She gasped, his voice was so rough. His eyes were darkened but almost glowing in the low light. She backed up, her back hitting the bookshelves as her breathing increased. He set aside his brush and started moving towards her._

_“Belle,” he said again, softly and so close she could almost feel his breath on her face._

_Then she was in his arms, pushed against the wooden shelf, the edge pressing awkwardly across her shoulder blades. He kissed her, once, gently, then pulled back and looked at her, questioning. She smiled and grabbed at his shirt to pull him down. Her mouth opened under his, and she thought maybe she seemed too eager, but he didn’t seem to mind._

_Everything was lips and teeth, on her mouth, her throat, her shoulder. She moaned and pulled his hair. He tugged her blouse free from her skirt and lifted it, impatient to get his hands on her skin._

Her pen came to the bottom of the page, the tip snapping as she pulled it off the edge. She jumped a bit, shaking her head as her mind drifted out of her daydream and back to reality. Outside it was fully dark and the rain was falling harder in big, fat drops that made splats on the glass so loud they sounded like rocks hitting. She sighed, and sat up, folding her notebook closed. She laid in bed, staring at the window and listening to the rain for an hour or so, until finally sleep came.


	7. Chapter 7

The jingle of the bell went unnoticed.

Gold’s head tilted slightly, his brow creased. The angle was wrong somehow but he didn’t know how to fix it. He erased a little bit in the corner, brushing away the flecks of graphite and rubber with his pinkie.

“Mr. Gold?”

He looked up, abruptly, eyes wide.

“M-miss French,” he stood quickly, the chair scraping against the floor as he pushed it back with his legs. The pad and pencil fell to the floor, forgotten as he moved around the desk. “What can I do for you?”

“Nothing, I was just -” She try to smile but ended up frowning. “Were you drawing something?”

“No,” he replied sharply. 

“Then what was that?” She pointed towards the desk and the notebook that was now lying on the floor behind it.

He swallowed hard. “Nothing, dearie.”

Her eyes narrowed. He hadn’t used that term with her in over a year, banished the day they had their first chat about Mary Shelley. 

She let out a humorless laugh and shook her head. “Mr. Gold, I don’t -”

He had to get her out before she noticed the drawing. He wasn’t ready. He needed to do one last thing, to get everything in order. It had to be perfect.

“I’m sorry, Miss French,” he said, cooly, guiding her to the door with a hand hovering at her back. She kept looking over her shoulder at him and he kept avoiding her eyes. “I’m very busy today. Maybe we can chat tomorrow?”

“Oh.” She turned, one hand on the shop door. “Okay, that’s - that’s fine. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

The door opened and shut hard, the sound of the bell almost shrill in his ears. He winced and then exhaled, sagging against the doorframe. He’d barely kept her from seeing what he was sketching, and in the process he’d been a right _bastard_. Pushing off the door, he took a peek through the blinds. Belle was walking slowly across the street. She looked back once, and he hated himself as he saw her shoulders slump. He’d probably ruined everything in his desire to make his reveal perfect.

With a heavy sigh he limped back to his desk in the back room and picked up the sketch pad. It was dusty from the floor and the corner was creased. He sighed again, realizing what he’d done that had made the angle and perspective all wrong. The pad landed with a loud slap on the desk before he turned and walked away from it, feeling like he related a bit too much to a piece of paper.

 

 

* * *

 

 

A week passed since the strange incident in Gold’s shop, and Belle hardly saw him. Apparently she had been wrong about everything. He seemed not to want anything to do with her, and she didn’t understand why. She’d waved to him every day, and barely received more than a nod in return. He hadn’t even come inside to return the books Neal had checked out. He just dropped them in the bin outside just before lunch. The sound of books hitting the bottom of the metal bin had never seemed so loud to her. It echoed in her ears and she was glad the place was empty as a few tears welled up in her eyes.

She had, however, received another drawing the very next day. Tuesday, yet again. She’d noticed that pattern right off and wondered if that meant anything. This sketch was quite different than all the others, but still of her, full length and standing outside. She was looking up at the sky, her hair lifted a bit by the wind, a long coat fluttering around her legs. The paper was heavier, almost coarse in texture, but it gave her skirt and coat the sense of real fabric. The black of the medium was heavier than the pen and pencil of the others, and it had a faint smell to it. It had taken her some thought, but she had finally placed it as charcoal.

The drawing was sitting on the circulation desk mid morning. She hadn’t heard the doors open, but she had been in the back, wiping down the study tables that were rarely used. She had been the only one in the building though, and the doors were heavy and usually shut with a hard thud. 

All day after that her mind had been on how someone had slipped in and out, and on the drawing itself. She felt strange looking at it, like someone had plucked a moment out of her life. But it wasn’t a moment that she remembered, it was one that had been observed, seen by someone she didn’t yet know. It probably should have felt voyeuristic, but really she just wanted to understand how they saw her. Or what they saw in her.

Now it was Tuesday again, and already evening. She should have closed up over an hour ago, but she’d yet to see another drawing. She’d been expecting it all day; her admirer had been particular about that so far. Maybe they would make themselves known today. Maybe that’s why she hadn’t found anything, why they were waiting. That was when she decided she would wait too. She’d wait as long as she could to see who they were, if she had to stay in the library until midnight. There was a determination that she was clinging to in the wake of Gold’s apparent rejection.

But they never came.

And now it was nearly six and she was tired. Sighing, she picked up her purse and flipped off the lights. Across the street, the lights were still on in Gold’s shop. She thought that was a bit strange since he usually closed on time at five. The light glowed a warm yellow, spilling out and cutting through the grey, rainy spring evening.

Before she knew what she was doing, her feet were carrying her towards it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Gold sighed and rubbed his eyes. The black lines he was making with the pen were going nowhere. He couldn’t make the image happen the way he wanted to so he was just fiddling. He should have left an hour ago. Neal should have been waiting for him, but instead he was at a school group until eight. The large Victorian was so uninspiring when it was empty. Or perhaps it was that he’d somehow lost his muse. Again.

With another huff, he dropped the pen and stood, moving unsteadily to the curtain that separated the back of the shop from the front. As he passed through, the bell rang out and he stopped. The beads clattered behind him.

“Hey,” Belle said, smiling slightly and shrugging.

His mouth opened and closed twice before he replied. “Hey.”

“I saw the light on.” She moved further into the room hesitantly.

He smiled. “I was just about to close up.” She nodded and for a moment he thought she was going to leave, so he added, “But you can look around while I get my things.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I don’t want to keep you.”

He moved towards her too quickly and then made himself stop. “It - it’s no matter. I, um, I have a couple new sketches, if you’d like to take a look.”

He didn’t know what compelled him to say that, but her eyes widened and her face seemed to light up for a moment. He braced for what was coming next, as she headed straight for the corner where he had hung his latest creation. He’d even signed it.

The click of her heels stopped and a moment later he heard her soft gasp. He shut his eyes and waited for something more, but it never came. She didn’t scream or throw things or yell. Or leave. He opened his eyes and she was still standing there.

Belle let out a breath as her fingers traced the edge of the frame. She wanted to touch the painting itself, feel the texture of the oils and canvas on her fingertips, gather the light from the window and pull it into her soul. It looked so warm and soft, so vivid and alive. She recognized the style now, and the subject and undeniably herself. She was just in profile, the viewer looking over her shoulder and seeing only the right side of her face. It was her but so much more.

The signature in the corner was what had really drawn her eye. She’d seen it plenty of times in the last year, since he insisted on signing the check out cards. Usually people just put their initials, but not Gold. That big looping G and the scrawl after it was unmistakable. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

Gold swallowed. “Belle,” he said softly. “I can explain -”

“Is that -” she hesitated and swallowed. Her throat felt too dry but she had to know. “Is that - how you see _me_?”

She didn’t turn around so Gold moved closer. He leaned heavily on his cane and clenched his free hand into a fist to keep from touching her.

“Yes,” he said softly.

He didn’t understand how she couldn’t see it in herself, the beauty that made her so ethereal and intangible to him. In his mind’s eye the glowing light wasn’t from the sunlight outside the window, it was from her. Outside that window it was gloomy and drizzly just as it was now, but inside, with her, there was warmth and light.

She blinked and shook her head. It wasn’t possible. The spare thought she’d had that her admirer and Gold could be the same seemed ludicrous at the time. Oh, how wrong she had been, and how grateful she was for it.

Gold stepped as near as he dared. Her skirt was brushing his trousers and if he leaned in just a little he could kiss the back of her head.

“Belle.”

She turned around and looked up at him, her tears finally breaking free and trickling down her cheeks. “I don’t understand?” she said. “I don’t - _why_?”

He shook his head. “Why the drawings?” She nodded and sniffled, and he sighed. “Because I’m a coward. Because you’re - you’re young and smart and - and beautiful -”

He didn’t get anything else out because there was a pair of lips pressed to his, Belle’s lips it took his brain a moment to realize. It was all too brief and then she pulled away.

She swallowed, suddenly afraid she’d done something wrong. He hadn’t reacted to her kiss the way she had hoped. “I - I’m so -”

This time his lips met hers and she gasped. The momentary parting of her mouth allowed him to catch her bottom lip in his, and that brief, wet taste of him stirred something in her.

Gold broke the kiss but leaned his forehead against hers. He felt her hands tighten on the lapels of his jacket, tugging a little like she didn’t want him to move. “Please, don’t say you’re sorry,” he said.

Belle smiled and shook her head. “I’m not.” 

He smiled too. “Good.”

This time everything was mutual. Her lips met his, his head tilted just a little, and both of them might have made an unseemly noise. She felt his fingers in her hair, his hand warm where he held her waist. He pushed her back a bit until she was pressed between him and the only empty bit of wall in the entire place.

The light shake of the painting made both of them break away, looking to the side to make sure it stayed on the wall before exchanging shy smiles.

Then Belle leaned back and looked up at him, her hands smoothing up and down over his tie. “You could have just said something, you know.”

He sighed. “I didn’t, actually.”

“But you could surreptitiously leave drawings around my library?” 

The arch of her eyebrow was one he knew well now. She was being more cheeky than serious.

He smiled. “Well, first, that’s quite a word for what I did. I don’t think I was all that sneaky so much as _you_ are easily distracted.” She gave him a light shove against his chest, but the twitch of her lips was playful. “And second - “

He sighed and leaned in to kiss her again, softly, before he pulled back. Her hands slid up to his shoulders and wrapped around his neck, keeping him close.

“Second?” she prompted.

“And second,” he continued, “I hadn’t touched a pen or pencil or paintbrush in a decade until you showed up.”

She felt another round of tears blurring her vision. “I don’t - I don’t know what to say.”

Gold shrugged and pulled her to him, loving the way it felt to have her body press against his as she went up on her tiptoes to kiss him. 

“Don’t say anything,” he whispered. “Just - have dinner with me? Tonight. See what happens?”

Belle nodded and grinned. “So is the restaurant a _secret_ or -?”

Gold leaned his head back and groaned, as Belle let out the most delighted giggle. “This is going to be a thing, isn’t it,” he said dryly.

She grinned up at him. “Probably.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Later, after almost three months of dates and lunches, and one _very_ heated game of Scrabble, Belle was standing in Gold’s art room. She’d been in it before, a couple of times, mostly so he could show her pieces she hadn’t seen or that he was working on. But now she was alone. He was just down the hall, of course, cleaning up the kitchen from dinner. For these few moments she felt like she was in some kind of inner sanctum, some place that was sacred to him. The wizard’s tower, she thought, and then let out a slight snort.

It was nice to have an evening that was just the two of them. Neal was gone for the weekend, camping with friends to celebrate the end of the school year and the start of summer. They had the house to themselves for the first time, and Belle wanted to make the most of it.

She eyed the old chaise lounge and smiled.

Gold frowned, expecting to find Belle in the study sizing up his book collection again, but instead he found an empty room. He looked up and down the hallway and then saw the the faint light from the old sunporch. Smiling, he headed into the art room and nearly dropped the glass of wine he was carrying.

“Belle,” he breathed.

She smirked at him from her reclined position on the velvet lounge. “ _Oliver_.”

He licked his lips. The sound of his first name coming from her was still new, but the way she said it just then made it sound like a dirty word. But what had all but stolen his breath was that she said it while sitting on the chaise in his art room in the most scandalous lingerie he’d ever seen.

He crossed to his work table and picked up his current sketchbook and pencil. “Is this the part where I draw you like one of my French girls?”

She snickered and rolled her eyes. “If you like.”

And she would. She’d been dying to have him draw her while she knew he was doing it, and while she could watch.

“You know,” he said, dropping the pad back on the table and tossing the pencil after it. “This room gets much better light in the morning.”

He started moving towards her, slowly, watching as she sat up and crossed her legs.

“Really?” she said. “The morning?”

He hummed. “Yes. It’s really the best light for this sort of thing.”

Her heart pounded in her chest as he came to stand in front of her. She let her eyes trail up and down his body, her lips twitching as she saw how affected he was by her little show. “So what’s this light best for?”

Gold smirked and let his cane fall to the floor as he knelt down in front of her.


End file.
